


Suture

by Naquar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Childhood, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Hugs, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naquar/pseuds/Naquar
Relationships: Dean Winchester/John Winchester
Kudos: 16





	Suture

"Dad?"  
John looked up and met the uncertain gaze of his eldest son in the bedroom doorway.  
"Sorry, if I woke you up but I need help"  
Dean helped his father take off his jacket.  
"Where have you been?"  
"Don't worry, Dean"  
With a grimace, John rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a badly arranged bandage stained with dried blood.  
"Luckily it stopped bleeding for a while," said John, with an attempt at a smile but it turned out to be a grimace.  
"All right"  
Dean closed the door behind him, making as little noise as possible so as not to wake the little brother who slept in the other room; then he went to the bathroom and took the first aid kit. He hated when he had to do it, but surely his father couldn't do it alone.  
Usually, John always wore long-sleeved shirts to hide the bad cuts or bruises he got when hunting, even during the summer: he didn't want to scare Sammy, he was too young to understand.  
There had been times when Sam had seen them and got scared, but Dean had reassured him that it was absolutely nothing, telling him absurd stories.  
Instead Dean had seen them the blue, purple bruises that bloomed on his father's skin, and each time that was a piece of his innocence that disappeared, giving way to harshness.  
"What did you do this time?"  
"A little accident," said John, taking off the improvised bandage. He didn't say that was the result of a stupid brawl in a bar, where a drunk idiot had wounded him with a shard of bottle in his arm and only because John had defended a waitress.  
Dean's face turned pale as soon as he saw the tattered shuffle on his father's arm, about ten centimeters long.  
"I've been lucky"  
"Why?"  
John did not answer and from under his eyelids he studied his son: Dean, he looked so vulnerable in his fourteen years under the raw yellow light of the kitchenette, wearing in that pajamas that was too big for him that he had been forced to do too many lapels on bare sleeves and feet.  
"I'll try to do you as little harm as possible," said Dean, carefully wiping a cotton swab dipped in disinfectant over the cut.  
"I will bear"  
Dean's hands trembled as he threaded the eye of the needle, then joined the flaps of skin with two fingers.  
John clenched his jaw when the needle entered the skin: that was always the most painful part.  
"Sorry, dad"  
"Just try to stay calm, okay?"  
Dean nodded, forcing himself to stay calm before continuing.  
The torture lasted several minutes, but John stood still and endured the pain.  
"Done"  
John glanced at his arm: his son had done a good job.  
"Thank you"  
"There's nothing to tell you, Dad," murmured Dean, applying a plaster, so that the seam would not be damaged.  
John stroked his son's head and smiled. "Good night"  
" 'Night ... Dad?"  
"Tell me"  
"Promise me you won't hurt yourself again"  
Dean found himself with his face pressed against his father's chest and his arms gripping his back.  
"I'm sorry"  
Dad doesn't do anything, Dean would have liked but he was silent.  
"I love you and Sammy, do you know?"  
"Yes," Dean replied, inhaling the smell of his father who smelled of cheap cologne and disinfectant.  
They stayed like that for a long time, after which they broke away from the embrace.  
"Now go to sleep," John ordered softly, before going back to sit at the table.  
"And you?"  
"In a while, Dean, in a while"


End file.
